


Jenée

by Wizard_of_Ozzie



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Gotham (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-10-20 19:54:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20681021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizard_of_Ozzie/pseuds/Wizard_of_Ozzie
Summary: The Joker hears a voice he recognizes, but he can't recall who it is.  He's determined to find the answer.  This fic gives a nod to 'The Killing Joke' story of Joker's origin.





	1. Chapter 1

“HAAARLEEEEY!” The Joker yelled, flinging clothes and undergarments from the drawer of a beat-up dresser. “Damn it! Where is it?” The Joker grumbled under his breath. _I know it was here. Why can’t I find it?_ He asked himself, yanking out the entire drawer and emptying its contents on the floor. He squatted down, rummaging through the mess he’d just thrown on the floor. He gave up in less than a minute, standing up and exhaling loudly. _It’s not here. Where can it be? _He wondered, running long slender fingers through his thick green hair.

“HAAARLEEEEY!” He screamed; his fists clenched and veins bulging from his temples. He silently scowled, listening for the expected pitter-patter of her feet on the floorboards. The only thing he heard was the distant drone of a TV somewhere on the first floor. _Where the hell is she!_ He inwardly groaned, marching out of his bedroom and stomping down the stairs to the first floor.

He reached the bottom of the steps, his lips tightening into thin line, as he glared at the crown of Harley’s head peeking over the backrest of a dingy plaid couch. Her back was to him and all he could see the top of her head slowly swaying back and forth. Three long strides and he was directly behind her, ripping bright red over-sized headphones from her ears.

“EEEK!” Harley shrieked, her heart jumping to her throat, as she twirled on the couch and saw Joker standing behind her. “Holy Shit Puddin’, ya almost gave me a heart attack!” She panted; her palm planted on her heaving chest.

“Woulda served you right.” Her Puddin’ sneered. “How many times have I warned you about zoning out and wearing headphones? Bats could have come crashing through the picture window and you wouldn’t have heard a thing. Not to mention the litany of rogues who are also out for my head.”

“Sorry Mistah J.” Harley mumbled, her head hanging low. The Joker lifted the earphones, about to slap her upside the head with them; when he heard the voice coming from the speaker and paused. He brought the earpiece closer to his ear. _This voice sounds familiar._ He silently noted. _I know I’ve heard it before, but where? _He placed the headphones on his head. It troubled him that the voice sounded so familiar, but he was unable to place it. He prided himself on his nearly photographic memory and not knowing where he heard the voice before, nagged at his mind like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

“I’ve heard this singer’s voice before, but I can’t remember the name.” The Joker said, his words barely more than a whisper. Harley looked up at him smiling.

“That’s Jenée Pierre.” Harley piped in brightly. “You probably heard her on the radio. The song’s called ‘You Made Me Laugh’. It’s been steadily moving up the charts.”

“What did you say?” He asked, pulling the headphones down and letting them rest on his neck.

“The singer’s Jenée Pierre.”

“G. Napier?” The Joker said, repeating exactly what she said, but putting more emphasis in the _Gee _sound. “The name sounds kind of familiar too.” He rubbed his chin, frowning, as he wondered why he was sure he’d heard that voice and that name before. Normally, this was not the type of thing that the Joker would let himself get worked up over. But the voice has stirred a confusing mix of emotions in him. He couldn’t quite figure out if it made him feel happy or sad. One thing he did know, it felt like she was singing to him and him alone. He was about to put the headphones back on, when Harley shoved her phone in his face.

“See, that’s her, Jenée Pierre.” Harley chirped, holding up the phone. He took the phone from her, staring intently at the web page. The singer’s name was displayed in block print across the top. 

“Oh, it’s spelled like that.” He said absently, scrolling down the screen. He blinked, his mouth falling open, as he saw a picture of a cute brunette with warm hazel eyes. “I know this face.” He mumbled under his breath. A hazy memory of a light, musical voice drifted across his mind. _‘My name’s Genevieve, but everybody calls me Jeannie.’ _The Joker’s face fell. He threw the phone on the couch, abruptly turned, and headed back upstairs; without saying a word. Harley watched the Joker storm away, her headphones still around his neck.

“This probably isn’t good time to ask for my headphones back.” She mumbled to herself, as she watched him disappear up the stairs. 

An hour later…

The Joker was sitting at his desk; staring vacantly at the hazel-eyed woman on his laptop’s screen. He spent most of the past hour doing research on Jenée Pierre. He’d learned a few things. She was 32 years old, a widow, and she’d lived in Los Angeles for the last five years. She was born in Gotham City. There was no mention of her parents or siblings in any of the articles he had found. There hadn’t been many articles about her and most of them were pretty short. She was far from a pop icon. Her current single was her first hit song.

The Joker recognized that his behavior was very of character; wasting so much time looking into some random woman’s background. _Why do I care?_ He asked himself for the umpteenth time, slamming the laptop shut. He stood up, sighing loudly and running his fingers through his hair. _Why can’t I shake the feeling that there’s something about this woman I need to remember? _

The Joker’s memories, of his past Pre-Joker life, were like looking up at a cloudy sky. He knew there was a sun burning behind those clouds, but he couldn’t quite see it. Occasional rays of sunlight would peek through and he would experience odd flashes of things or places he barely recognized. Typically, he’d cast the disjointed flashbacks from his mind the moment they occurred. He knew who he was **_now_** and that was all that mattered. But this Jenée Pierre thing was different. It was a mystery he felt compelled to solve.

There was one more thing he learned while looking into her background. She was the opening act for a big-name concert being held at Gotham’s Palladium next Saturday.

Saturday at Gotham’s Palladium…

Getting front row seats to the sold-out performance wasn’t difficult for a man with the Joker’s connections. He had scores of acolytes across the city. Pretty much ordinary Joes, who weren’t quite henchmen material, but definitely had their uses. In addition to his front row seat, he had also acquired a backstage pass.

He sat in his front row seat, looking like a typical Gothamite with his flesh colored makeup, black hair, and relatively conservative clothing. Try as he might, he couldn’t ignore the feeling of butterflies fluttering in his stomach, as he waited for the show to begin. He groaned loudly, disgusted with himself for acting like some pathetic fanboy. The woman seated next to him glanced over at the sound. Their eyes met for a moment and the woman quickly turned away, whispering something to her male companion. The two of them engaged in a brief, but heated debate in hushed tones of voice. Her date hmphed audibly before getting up and switching seats with her. The curtain was opening now, and Joker’s eyes were pinned to the stage, not giving the couple a second thought.

Meanwhile, backstage…

Jenée Pierre stood in front of her dressing room’s full-length mirror, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. Tonight’s performance would be in front of thousands. It was the largest audience she had ever faced. She felt as if she was on the verge of hyperventilating and consciously forced her breathing to slow. She was wearing a long, skin-tight red latex dress with a deep plunging back and side slits that went from the floor to her hips. She wasn’t really comfortable wearing such a revealing dress, but that’s showbiz—_sex sells_. She was staring anxiously at the nearly nonexistent little pooch of fat on her lower abdomen, when she felt a small hand wrapping around hers.

“Don’t worry Mommy, you look beautiful. Just like Jessica Rabbit.” Said the five-year-old holding her hand. She looked down into his large, sparkling green eyes and smiled.

“Thank you, baby!” She replied, bending over and kissing his forehead. Her heart swelled, as she looked at her precious little man. _I’m going to do fine._ She told herself. _There’s no way I’m letting this little fella down. He’s my everything._

“Pierre, you’re on in five.” A stagehand shouted from the outside of the dressing room door.

The Joker was sitting slouched down his plush velvet seat, his fingertips drumming the armrest. He was fighting back the urge to fling one, of the many daggers on his person, at the MC on stage. A man, the Joker pegged as far too enamored with the sound of his own voice. Finally, the house lights dimmed, and the Joker sat up straight, literally on the edge of his seat.

The curtain opened, strains of music filling the immense auditorium. A spotlight shined high above the stage floor, as Jenée appeared, floating down on a trapeze-like swing. She was leaning back on the swing in a horizontal position, one long shapely leg held high, her foot arched and toes pointed upward. The swing descended and she gracefully lowered her legs; sliding smoothly off the swing, as her feet reached the stage floor.

Jenée was terrified, nearly overcome with stage fright, as she was lowered to the floor. Thousands and thousands of eyes trained directly on her. It was overwhelming. Her heart fluttered in her chest, like a bird trying to escape its cage. _All these people!_ Her mind screamed. _I need to calm down!_ _I can’t ruin this performance!_ She decided to pretend she was singing to just one person. Her eyes settled on a man in the front row. He was tall and slender like her late husband. She stared into his eyes as she sang, ignoring the thousands of others in the audience. She felt her nervousness dissipate, as the throngs of people watching her perform became little more than background noise. Her eyes were fixed on the man in the front row seat. _I’m singing just to him tonight!_ She told herself, belting out the song with more strength and emotion than she ever had before.

There was a hush throughout the room, as she began to sing. Her voice; strong, melodic and brimming with emotion. The Joker stared at her, unable to tear his eyes away, as she sang and moved across the stage. The words of her song touching something deep within him.

♬ _You made me laugh, you made me dance, we shared the world’s most exquisite romance._ ♬

♬ _You made me laugh, you made me scream, in your arms my life was a wet dream._ ♬

A few bars later, the song’s mood shifted; the notes sweet yet laced with melancholy. She stood in the middle of the stage and the Joker could have sworn she was looking directly at him. Singing only for him.

♬ _You made me laugh, but now I cry. Dammit, why did ya hafta go and die? _♬

♬ _I was so sad. It drove me mad. Cruel fate had stolen the great thing we had. _♬

♬ _You were my world; you were my life. At my wrist I held a sharpened knife. _♬

♬ _A cut or two and I’d join you. There was nothing else for me to do. _♬

♬ _But you saved me, you gave me hope. I had piece of you to help me cope. _♬

♬ _Inside of me, a small heart grew. He knows how to make me laugh, just like you. _♬

Jenée bowed after completing her song. The roar from the audience was deafening. People were getting to their feet as they applauded. _I can’t believe it! They really liked me!_ She felt tears forming in her eyes. After her final bow, she glanced at the man in the front row seat and gave him a little wink. It was her way of saying thank you. She quickly turned and ran off stage. Once offstage, she scooped little Jackie into her arms. He’d been waiting in the wings for her the whole performance. He hugged her tightly.

“You were great mommy!” He cried, his voice bubbling with giddy childlike enthusiasm. She kissed his cheek, a lump forming in her throat. She was grinning like a fool, mumbling thanks to the stagehands and other folks congratulating her on her performance. She carried Jackie on her hip, as she made her way back to her dressing room, wishing she could thank the man in the front row seat who made her nervousness disappear.

The Joker did not realize he was crying, until he felt the coolness of a tear rolling down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away, unnerved because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. Throughout her song he had felt certain she was singing directly to him. And if he had any lingering doubts, her little wink made them disappear. Now he was more determined than ever to solve the mystery of Jenée Pierre. 

Once she made it to her dressing room, Jenée quickly changed clothes. She threw on a pair of jeans and a purple silk blouse. It was her favorite blouse. She loved its rich purple hue and the way it subtly shimmered in even the palest light. But most of all, she adored the way the fabric caressed her skin; smooth, soft, and comforting.

“Why did you take off your Jessica rabbit dress?” Little Jackie asked, his bottom lip protruding. Jenée couldn’t help but smile. She found his pouting face adorable. _That’s what I get for letting him watch ‘Who shot the Roger Rabbit’ a zillion times._

“That dress is just a costume Mommy wears on stage. I can't just go walking around in it all day. It’s not very comfortable and I don’t want to get it dirty before tomorrow’s show.” She told him, as she slipped on a pair of purple flats and fastened the ankle straps. 

There was a knock at her dressing room door. She had scarcely looked up before Jackie ran to the door, flinging it open. He looked up at the tall slender man holding a bouquet of flowers. The Joker looked down at the little boy, startled to see bright green eyes, the same shade as his, peering up at him.

“Hi.” Jackie said, reaching for the flowers. “Are those for my mommy?” Jenée sprang to her feet, wondering how the man had made it to her dressing room. She hurried to stand behind her son, wrapping a protective arm over his shoulder.

“Y—Yes, they are.” The tall man stuttered, handing the bouquet to Jenée. She took it cautiously, unnerved by the thought of a strange man in her dressing room. She looked into his face, wondering. _Why does he look so familiar?_ Then it hit her.

“You were sitting in the front row.” She stated, as she looked the man over. She’d recognized him from his clothes and body type but could see his features much clearer now. The footlights had washed them out while she was on stage. She clutched Jackie’s shoulder tighter, feeling herself experience a dizzying sense of Déjà vu.

“Yes, that was me.” He answered, his voice smooth, deep an oddly comforting. He took a step into the room. “Your performance was extraordinary. You made me feel as if you were singing only to me.” Normally, a comment like that would set off ‘stalker alarm bells’ ringing in Jenée’s head, but this time it was true. Jenée dipped her head slightly, color arising to her cheeks.

“Actually, I was.” She meekly admitted. “It’s a technique I use to ward off stage fright. Singing to one person is much less intimidating than singing to thousands. I've never performed in front of such a large audience before. I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable.” She added, meeting his gaze.

“I wasn’t uncomfortable, but I’d definitely felt something…” He answered, his voice trailing off as he explored her warm hazel eyes. Jackie curiously looked back and forth between the two adults. He didn’t think he’d ever seen his mommy look at a man like that. A thought came to his mind and he grinned widely. He slipped from his mother’s grasp and ran to her purse on the dressing table. He pulled out her wallet and ran back to the grownups. He lifted the open wallet, showing them both the picture inside.

“This man looks just like Daddy!” He sang, bouncing up and down, as he held the picture high. Jenée took the wallet from his hands. She felt her chest tightening as she looked down at the photo. It was her and her late husband, Jack. She looked back up at the tall man and was surprised to see him staring open-mouthed at the photo. She bit her lip and squatted down next to Jackie.

“Jackie baby, you know this man’s not daddy, right?” She asked softly, a gentle hand on the little boy’s shoulder. The little boy’s eyes were blazing as he stared back of his mother, his little lips trembling.

“How do you know he’s not?” The little boy challenged, grabbing the wallet and holding it to his chest. “They never found his body!” Jenée’s face was filled with pain, as she reached out to take her son into her arms. Jackie jumped back, out of her reach. “I can prove it!” He exclaimed, grabbing the Joker by the arm. The Joker stood there looking shell-shocked, as Jackie pushed his sleeve up his forearm.

“See! I told you!” Jackie cried, pointing to the ∞ shaped tattoo on the Joker’s wrist. Jenée gasped, glancing at the identical infinity tattoo inked across her own wrist. She gawked up at the Joker, her eyes as wide as saucers.

“Who are you?” She whispered in a thin, shaky voice.

“Funny you should ask.” The Joker chuckled. “I’m not sure I know anymore.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Hours earlier, in the Batcave…

Batman was seated in front of the Bat computer, swiping through a succession of grainy face shots displayed on the large screen. He snorted loudly, his nostrils flaring over tightened lips. _Not him, none of these are him!_ He inwardly grumbled. The Joker had escaped from Arkham over two weeks ago and Batman was no closer to finding him today than he had been on the night the madman escaped. 

He had hoped using facial recognition software to review the thousands of images captured on Gotham City’s surveillance cameras might give him a clue to the villainous clown’s whereabouts. The only thing it had given him was a headache. The software had produced dozens of potential matches, but no Joker.

He glanced at the time. _Damn, it’s that late?_ He noted with a grimace. _I better get dressed. I’ve got a date tonight. _Frankly, Bruce was not looking forward to his date with the rising pop star, Jenée Pierre. Bruce was convinced that every minute the Joker remained free on the streets of Gotham brought his city closer to some cataclysmic event. But he understood that dates with glamorous women were a necessary part of maintaining his carefree, playboy persona. And it wasn’t like he had a single lead on the Joker. So tonight, he would don his other mask—happy-go-lucky, rich boy. If his plan tonight was to use Jenée as a prop, the least he could do was not be late. 

Bruce was upstairs, getting dressed, when the computer dinged; adding the image of a dark-haired man with piercing green eyes to the facial recognition search results. The computer listed the surveillance camera’s location as Gotham’s Palladium.

Present time, in Jenée’s dressing room… 

“W-What?” Jenée asked, her brow furrowed, as she stared up at the strange man with an uncanny resemblance to her late husband.

“Sorry, bad joke.” The Joker hurriedly replied, anxious to smooth over his earlier comment. “Let me introduce myself properly.” He smiled, extending a hand. “My name is Joseph, Joseph Kerr.” Jenée took his gloved hand, holding it a beat longer than necessary, as she studied his long slender fingers. 

_Oh my god! _She thought_. He even has Jack’s spidery fingers!_ A memory of Jack’s thin, graceful fingers walking up her inner thigh before he buried his face between her legs, caused an almost imperceptible shiver to run through her body. She released the tall man’s hand with a soft, somewhat embarrassed titter. _Stop being foolish! He isn’t Jack! You know Jack is dead!_ Her head slightly bowed as she silently admonished herself. Before she could notice the amusement sparkling in her visitor’s eyes, little Jackie inserted himself between the two adults, offering his hand to the Joker. 

“I’m Jacque Pierre, but everybody calls me Jackie.” The boy cheerfully volunteered, giving the Joker’s hand an unusually vigorous two-handed shake. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The tall man replied with a smile, bending at his waist as he shook the child’s hand. “Ah, that’s quite a grip you have there, young man.” The Joker added with a chuckle. “How old are you?”

“I’m five and three quarters.” He answered proudly. “I’ll be six in three months.”

“Oh my, you not only have a strong grip, but you’re a math whiz too!” The Joker grinned, leaning over, his hands on his knees. Jackie returned his grin, his little hand reaching for the Joker’s head.

“There something in your hair.” Jackie said, snatching something from the Joker’s head and shoving it into his pocket. The tall man felt a fleeting pinprick of pain on his scalp at the child’s touch and gave the little boy a curious look. Jenée had been silently watching their interaction and turned to her son.

“What did you put in your pocket Jackie?” She asked, a hand on her hip. The little boy looked down, avoiding his mother’s eyes.

“Nuthin.” He mumbled; both of his hands buried in his pockets, as he stared at the floor. Jenée leaned over, lifting the boy’s chin with a finger.

“Jackie!” Jenée warned, giving the boy stern look. “Show me!” The little boy scowled at his mother and exhaled with an audible huff, lifting his tiny fist from his pocket. His pudgy fingers opened and displayed three strands of pitch-black hair. Both adults stared at the child’s open hand. “Why did you take Mr. Kerr’s hair, Jackie?”

“Because you don’t believe me!” The little boy cried. “But DNA will prove it!” The Joker’s eyes widened a fraction at the boy’s revelation, a wide grin spreading across his face. Jenée’s mouth fell open, as she stared mutely at her son. She knew her baby was gifted, with an IQ over 200, but this still sent her for a loop. _Seriously? My five-year-old was planning to do a DNA test!_

“One question, kiddo.” The Joker drawled. “DNA tests aren’t cheap. How did you plan to pay for it?” Little Jackie gnawed at his bottom lip, looking down as he lifted his other hand from his pocket.

“I’m sorry.” The little fella muttered, opening his hand to show the gold, ‘J’ shaped cuff link in his palm. The half carat emerald, mounted on the cuff link, glistened softly under the dressing room’s lights. Jenée snatched the cuff link and handed it to Mr. Kerr, glaring at her son the entire time.

“What did Mommy tell you about stealing Jackie?” Jenée asked, squatting down to his level, her face equal parts worry and exasperation. The boy looked at his mother, mistiness forming in his large green eyes, his little lips trembling.

“Not to do it anymore.” He quietly answered. Jenée stood up wearily and turned to the Joker.

“I apologize for all this Mr. Kerr.” Jenée said, lightly touching the tall man’s arm. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, but I think you should leave now. My son and I need to have a little heart to heart.”

“Of course, I understand. That’s quite a kid you’ve got there.” The Joker said, giving Jackie’s hair an affectionate ruffle. “Don’t be too hard on him. I think he’s a sweet kid at heart.” Jenée nodded, smiling weakly and opening the dressing room door. “Bye bye Jackie.” The Joker gave the boy a little wave and walked out the door. After the door shut behind him, the Joker glanced down at the strands of Jackie’s hair in his glove and grinned.

Later that evening…

Jenée and Bruce sat quietly in the back of the limousine, as Alfred chauffeured them to the afterparty for tonight’s performance. Although the two passengers were sitting so close that their knees lightly touched, their minds were 1000 miles away. Ironically, both were consumed by thoughts of the same fascinating, yet frustrating man.

Jenée fidgeted with the clasp of the small clutch in her lap. She’d seriously considered skipping the afterparty and spending a quiet evening at the hotel with her son. But she understood that while she was not officially ‘on the clock’ at this event, showing her face at this party was definitely an important part of her ‘job’. The press would be in attendance and the publicity was crucial to the success of their tour and her fledgling career. Jenée had no desire to be relegated to the ranks of the many ‘one-hit wonders’ the music industry routinely produced.

But try as she might, she was having a hard time focusing on her date (_a drop-dead gorgeous billionaire, no less_) or the party they would be attending together. Her thoughts continued to drift to the mysterious Mr. Kerr. Maybe shaking him from her mind would have been easier if he hadn’t made such an impression on her little boy. Before today, she’d never realized how much her son longed for his father. She always assumed he couldn’t miss what he never had. But she was wrong. Something about the oddly charming and handsome Mr. Kerr had ignited a spark of curiosity in his young mind that their heart-to-heart talk, earlier this evening, had done little to extinguish.

She could tell herself that her fixation on the tall slender man was due to the impact he had on her son, but she knew it was much more that. She couldn’t get it out of her head that he not only resembled her late husband, but he had his eyes! Those beautiful, bright emerald green eyes. She remembered how the very first sight of them made her 14-year-old heart go pitter-patter. 

Fate had thrust them together. Both of them, penniless orphans with no family, assigned by the state to the same foster home. _Foster home my ass! More like a sweatshop! _Jenée pfft’d softly at the memory.

“Huh?” Bruce asked, startled from his own internal reverie by the tiny sound Jenée had made. “Did you say something?”

“Oh no, I’m sorry. I guess I was just kind of thinking out loud.” Jenée quickly answered, a bit of color rising to her cheeks. _Oh god, I just told him I was talking to myself. He’s going to think I’m some type of headcase._

“No need to apologize. It’s my fault. I’ve been poor company, leaving you with no one to talk to but yourself. I apologize. It was rude of me to be so absorbed in my own thoughts that I was ignoring the beautiful and talented woman at my side.” Bruce said, giving Jenée a slightly embarrassed, yet dazzling smile. Bruce honestly felt bad. He rather liked Jenée. She was a welcome relief from the cloying chatterboxes he usually got stuck with on the dates Alfred arranged.

“No need for you to apologize either.” Jenée said, giving his thigh a light pat. “I guess we both have a lot on our minds.”

“Anything that you’d like to talk about?”

“Nooo, I’m sure I’d bore you to death with my internal monologues.” Jenée snorted, raising her palm like a stop sign. “What about you? Anything you’d like to talk about?”

“Well…since you asked, I do have a question for you.”

“OK, shoot.” Jenée said, straightening her back and giving him a look of full attention.

“Your song, I heard you wrote that yourself?”

“Yup.” Jenée replied, adding an extra pop to the ‘P’ sound that Bruce found endearing.

“The way you sing it…with so much passion and feeling. It’s like what you’re singing about something that really happened.”

“Actually, it did. The song was inspired by my late husband and the years we spent together.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey, it’s OK.” Jenée broke in, her hand gently covering his. “Losing him was hard, but remembering the good times gives me comfort. I guess it’s like the old saying, tis better to have loved and lost…”

“Than never to have loved all.” They both recited in perfect unison. They laughed at their spur-of-the-moment duet, their foreheads touching. Alfred smiled at the sound of their laughter. It had been a while since he’d heard Master Bruce laugh with such carefree spontaneity and genuine joy.

The limousine slowed and pulled to a stop.

“We’re arrived at your destination sir…Arkham mansion.” Alfred announced, exiting the car. He opened the rear passenger door, extending a hand to Jenée. She stepped from the car and paused, staring up at the dark, gothic building. Creepy was the first word that came to Jenée’s mind, as she gazed at the large, forbidding, brick structure. Bruce exited the car and walked around to Jenée’s side, following her gaze to the dense, low-hanging clouds obscuring the central tower’s spire.

“I swear, only morbid Mack would choose a spooky loony bin for a party.” Jenée said, slowly shaking her head.

“Well, I guess that’s what you’d expect from a guy that leads a band named Dead and Disturbed. And it’s not a loony bin anymore, all of the patients have been moved to Arkham City.”

“Hmph, that makes me feel much better.” The pop star smirked. “I’m surprised they haven’t torn it down yet. It looks like the house on Haunted Hill.”

“The City Council is still trying to develop a plan for this site, but since Halloween is only a few weeks away, some genius got the idea to open it up to the public as a haunted house attraction. And we’re the lucky folks that get the debut tour.”

“Wow, what a treat.” Jenée deadpanned with a roll of her eyes, coaxing a smile for Bruce’s lips, as they walked arm in arm up the path to the entrance.

Less than an hour later…

The Joker was a man that knew how to own a room, demand the attention of every eye, pull a gasp from every throat. Every Gothamite knew this, but it wasn’t his only talent. He also knew how to be invisible. How to be no more than a shadow glimpsed in the corner of an eye; no more noteworthy than a mote of dust floating through the air. Seen, but unseen; he moved with a casual grace through the crowded room, his face a mask of expertly applied, flesh-colored makeup. 

The ballroom of Arkham mansion had been restored to its former glory for the event. Halloween decorations peppered the walls and similarly themed centerpieces adorned the dozens of small roundtables where guests chatted and ate finger foods. But the food and the decorations were of little interest to the Joker and his eyes kept wandering to the couple seated at a table, to the right of the bar.

He could see the couple was laughing, the man’s hand resting softly atop the woman’s. He was too far away to hear their conversation, but he was having a difficult time pulling his eyes away from Jenée’s laughing face. An image flashed in his mind…

_He was running through a field, a girl running beside him holding his hand. He could hear her laughter, like the tinkle of tiny bells, piercing the brisk November night. He turned to her. It was Jenée, but she was at least a decade younger. Traces of baby fat plumping her wind-reddened cheeks. The late autumn breeze swirling her long brown hair behind her, like streamers in the wind. He squeezed her hand and she turned to meet his gaze. An orange glow painted her smiling face, traces of the firelight glittering in her bright hazel eyes. He glanced backward at the farmhouse, consumed by flames, less than 100 yards behind them. It was a glorious sight, but it paled in comparison to the heady rush of exhilaration looking at her evoked. _

The Joker blinked, oddly amused by the vivid scene that had played out in his mind’s eye. It wasn’t the first time. Random scraps of memories had been bouncing through his head from the first time he saw Jenée’s face. _The mystery slowly unfolds._ He mused with a thin smile. _All I need is the thread that weaves the scraps together._ His eyes darted to the table by the bar. Bruce Wayne was sitting alone. _Where is she?_ His mind screamed, his eyes quickly scanning the room. _There she is!_ He silently rejoiced. She was walking toward the archway leading out of the ballroom, in the direction of the restrooms. He began to follow her, his body quick and graceful, as he oozed through the crowd. 

His brow furrowed, as he noticed the white-jacketed waiters were beginning to congregate around the ballroom’s three exits. His lips curled in a toothy snarl, as he saw Jenée being stopped at the exit, by the outstretched palm of a burly waiter. The room was plunged into total darkness. Less than a minute later, the room became blindingly bright; the lights coming on and a high, screechy voice shrieking from the speakers.

“WELCOME PARTY PEOPLE!” The Scarecrow yelled, standing atop the bar, his arms outstretched. “ARE YOU READY TO BE SCARED TO DEATH?” Some of the more intoxicated guests tittered or hollered ‘_HELL_ _YES!’_, thinking the costumed man was part of the night’s festivities and tour of the haunted mansion. Some gasped in horror, fully aware of the nightmare unfolding around them. One man, Bruce Wayne, slid down in his seat, disappearing beneath a black, floor length tablecloth. Once underneath, he gently nudged the table to the large intake vent to his right. Unseen, he removed the bolts from the vent and slipped inside.

Jenée heard a howl of pain, as the lights flicked on; stinging her dilated pupils. The burly waiter, in front of her, staggered backwards. His hand going to his face and the switchblade, buried to the hilt, in his eye socket. Her mind had barely registered shock at the sight of the dying man falling in front of her, when a firm hand gripped her forearm and pulled her way.

“We need to get out of here. NOW!” The Joker hissed, yanking Jenée into a narrow corridor. 

“W-What’s going on?” Jenée sputtered, as the Scarecrow’s voice echoed from the ballroom. 

“It’s the Scarecrow, he’s about to gas this joint with fear toxin.” The Joker answered, hurriedly pulling Jenée into a dark, musty smelling room. He flipped the lights on and Jenée’s eyes frantically darted around the dusty room filled with tarp covered furniture. “You’ve got to get out of here!” The Joker grunted, lifting of a partition on the wall to expose a large dumbwaiter. He turned to Jenée and grasped her hand. “You’ve got to get in there. It’ll take you to the cellar, away from the gas.” Jenée stared into the dusty, cobweb-laced dumbwaiter and wrinkled her nose. She looked back up at the Joker.

“You’re coming with me, right?” She asked, tentatively touching the dumbwaiter’s base and looking back up at Joker with wide eyes.

“No, you go first and send it back up for me. It’s not large enough to fit us both.” Jenée frowned at his response, placing her hands on her hips and giving him a determined glare.

“We can fit. I’m not leaving you up here to die!” Jenée said, shifting her body into a wide-legged stance and pulling her dress up to her waist. “We’ll do a wife-carry, like the races. Now stick your head between my legs and I’ll hop on your back.”

The Joker considered telling her he was immune to the toxin, but the idea of the two of them crushing themselves into the dumbwaiter was far too clown car to resist.

“OK. Let’s do this!” He grinned; his eyes drawn to her red, lacy panties. She bent her knees slightly, widening the space between her thighs. The Joker glanced back at the door, noting the faint tendrils of green mist seeping into the room beneath it. Not wasting any more time, he bent over, shoving his head between her legs; his broad shoulders pressed against the front of her thighs. Jenée hopped up on his back, grabbing him around the waist and tucking her head against the small of his back. He stood up and her hair fell forward fanning over his butt.

Without thinking, he wrapped his hands around her thighs, pulling them closer to his chest. The warmth of her soft thighs on his cheeks was oddly comforting, as he realized he’d done this before…some time, someplace, long ago. Jenée noticed he wasn’t moving and nudged an elbow in his side.

“Hurry up!” She urged, seeing the gas seeping under the door. Her voice snapped the distracted man from his musings, and he shimmied, backwards into the dumbwaiter, lifting his long legs and tucking them as close as he could to his body. A prick of fear rose in the pit of Jenée’s stomach, as the panel closed, and they were plunged into darkness. She silently prayed that the dumbwaiter wouldn’t get stuck before reaching the cellar, as she tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of blood rushing to her head. The dumbwaiter groaned under their weight; inching downward at a maddeningly slow rate.

“Just don’t fart in my face.” Jenée quipped childishly, in a feeble attempt to overcome her fear. The Joker responded, by making a farting sound with his lips.

“Asshole!” Jenée teased, bursting into laughter. The Joker began laughing, too. The sound of his own laughter vaguely unfamiliar to his ears, the tone lighter and more heartfelt than his typical wicked cackle. Their giggling fit continued, until a loud thump and jolting rattle, made it clear they had reached the bottom. 

The Joker hurriedly opened the dumbwaiter; jumping to his feet with Jenée still on his back. He crouched and bent down, allowing her to dismount. Jenée stood up, readjusting her dress; her tiny clutch bag dangling from her wrist. The Joker stood there silently watching her, as she ran her fingers through her hair and took in her surroundings. The dim, dank room appeared to be a long-forsaken kitchen; the stove and refrigerator were old, battered and covered in a thick layer of dust. She glanced back at him and caught his gaze, mildly startled by the intensity of his stare. _Jack used to look at me just like that._ She realized, her eyes widening and mouth falling open. 

“What? What’s wrong?” The Joker asked, noticing her odd expression. “Is my fly open?” He joked, “Something stuck in my teeth?” He added, baring his teeth and pointing to his mouth. Jenée laughed softly, waving her hand with a dismissive flick of her wrist.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” She said, shaking her head and looking away. He placed a finger under her chin, lifting her head and meeting her eyes.

“Now, now, I can see there’s something on your mind. Tell me.” He cajoled. Jenée bit her lip and averted her eyes, exhaling loudly through her nose. She opened her lips about to speak, before she thought better of it and closed her mouth. “Look at me. What’s wrong?” He asked softly, cocking his head to the side.

“It’s just…you, you look and sound so much like my late husband. It’s kinda spooky. Jack is dead. I saw him die.”

“You were there when he died?” The Joker asked, somewhat taken aback by her statement.

“No, I wasn’t there but I saw the surveillance footage. It was an industrial accident. He fell into a huge vat of acid.” Jenée felt it wiser to omit the part about him trying to rob the place. She had never told anyone else this much. She had a less gruesome cover story for fans and business associates, whom she told he fell off a boat. “They never found his body. I assume it was liquefied by the acid.” Her voice caught in her throat. The Joker placed his arms around her, and she buried her head in his chest. “I—I can’t imagine a more horrible way to die.” She half mumbled, half sobbed; her hand gripping the fabric of his jacket. “He didn’t deserve that.” She added weakly. The Joker hummed in assent, gently stroking her hair. He held the sobbing woman a few moments longer, before placing an arm around her shoulder and leading her out of the dilapidated kitchen.

They walked through the dimly lit cellar in silence, each consumed by their own thoughts. The Joker’s mind was in turmoil. Falling into the vat of chemicals was one of the few consistent memories he had of his past. _She’s my wife?_ _How can that be?_ _I saw the paramedics carry her sheet covered body from our burned-out apartment._ He anxiously pondered. _But I never saw her face. I never stepped up to identify her body. I was too ashamed. She died because I got hooked up with the wrong people._

A realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He stopped walking; his hand, plastered against the cold, damp wall, the only thing keeping him upright. _My mind, my sick guilty mind locked away all my memories of her, because I couldn’t bear the pain of remembering that I was responsible for her death and the death of our unborn child. But she’s alive! My son is alive!_ Jenée noticed that he had stopped walking and turned to him. She saw the sheen of perspiration on his brow, as if he had broken into a cold sweat. His breaths short and shallow, like he was hyperventilating or something.

“Joseph, what’s wrong?” she asked, placing a hand on his cheek. _He so cold, he’s trembling!_ She silently fretted, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her body to his, hoping to soothe his obvious distress. He put his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. “What is it?” she asked again, wondering, in the back of her mind, why it felt so comfortable, so familiar, embracing this man…this man she’d only met a few hours before.

“Jeannie, Jeannie, jelly beanie.” He whispered, his breath soft and warm on the crown of her head. Her entire body jerked, as she heard his words. _Only Jack called me that!_ She abruptly pulled herself from his embrace the, shoving him away with both hands. 

“Wh—What did you call me?” she breathlessly asked, glaring into those all too familiar green eyes.

“Jeannie.” He answered with a shaky breath. Jeannie hauled off and slapped him across the face with all her might, her hand stinging from the impact. If she hadn’t been so furious, she might have noticed the faint traces of peach colored makeup on the palm of her hand.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

“What kind of game are you playing Jack? Acting like you don’t know me. Giving me some phony baloney name.” Jeannie raged, pounding her thighs with her fists, as she glared up at the tall man in front of her.

“Still a little firecracker, eh Jeannie.” The Joker smirked, apparently unfazed by her outburst. “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black, you’ve been giving the whole world a phony baloney name. You think you’re too good to be a Napier now.”

“That’s different, it’s my stage name.” Jenee shot back, dismayed by the hint of guilt she heard in her voice. “Don’t try to change the subject. Why were you lying to me?”

“Maybe it’s because Genevieve Napier was declared legally dead five years ago. Now you tell me, whose dead body was carried out of our apartment when you decided to fake your death and hightail it out of town?”

“How should I know? I didn’t put the body there.” Jeannie snapped, crossing her arms and looking away. 

“Hmm,” The slender man hummed, rubbing his chin, as he glanced at Jeannie out of the side of his eye. “So, some random woman just waltzed into our apartment, blew up the water heater and offed herself?”

“This is no time for an interrogation! We need to get out before that gas seeps down here.” Jeannie said. “I have no desire to laugh myself to death and be buried with a grotesque grin on my face.”

“Wh—what! Scarecrow’s fear gas is nothing but a second rate hallucinogenic. What you’re describing is the Joker venom; a clearly superior poison. A deadly neurotoxin, which affects not only the mind but the entire nervous system. How could you confuse the two? It’s like comparing a snarling kitten to a charging tiger.” The Joker angrily replied.

“Jack, you’ve been in Gotham too long. Who cares which vicious villain is trying to kill us! We need to get the hell out of here before he succeeds!”

“Fine, let’s go!” The Joker barked, snatching Jeannie by the wrist and pulling her through the long-deserted cellar. Jeannie struggled to keep up with his long, swift strides, as the man dragging her forward mumbled angrily under his breath.

Several minutes later, they emerged from the cellar into the crisp October night. Screams and gunfire could be heard echoing from the mansion and Jeannie glanced back at the sinister structure, a look of awe and fear painted across her face. The man accompanying her didn’t seem to give it a second thought and hurriedly led her to his car.

Jeannie sat in the passenger seat, silent and shell-shocked, as the car sped away from the scene of the crime. _Why did I ever return to Gotham City? This town is cursed._ She told herself. Then she looked over at the man behind the wheel. _This city may be a hellhole but finding Jack alive and healthy is all that really matters._ She silently conceded, leaning over to rest her head against his side. She could feel the tension draining from the man beside her, his body relaxing, as he placed an arm around her shoulder and gave her a comforting squeeze.

“I’m taking you back to your hotel.” He informed her. She nodded mutely, shutting her eyes and luxuriating in the heat of her husband’s touch. The Joker stared at the road, a strange feeling of contentment settling in his bones. He hadn’t felt at peace like this for quite a long time. Her proximity was stirring a wealth of emotions inside him. Emotions he’d thought he no longer had the capacity to feel…warmth, tenderness, _love?_ He wasn’t sure if he should be happy or horrified by the feelings she evoked in him. Cruel, calculating, vicious, those were words he used to describe himself. But with her at his side he felt something new and troubling, he felt vulnerable. There was now something in this world he truly cared about losing. _What will she think when she finds out what I have become?_

A few bars of Jenee’s signature song rang from the confines of her clutch purse. She pulled out her phone and looked at the screen. _Bruce!_ _Damn, I forgot all about him!_ She realized, as she pulled the phone to her ear.

“Hello Bruce, are you okay?” Jeannie asked.

“Yes, I’m fine. How are you doing? I was looking all over for you.” Bruce answered. Jeannie bit her lip, more than a tad ashamed that he had completely slipped her mind.

“I’m fine, too. A friend helped me escape before the gas could get me.”

“A friend, huh?” The Joker grumbled under his breath. Jeannie grinned and patted his thigh.

“How did you get out of there Bruce?” Jeannie asked, her hand moving up the Joker’s thigh.

“I hid under a table with a wet napkin over my face. Lucky for us, Batman swooped in and saved the day.”

“Wow! Batman was there? I was kind of hoping I’d see him before I left town. Under better circumstances of course.” She giggled, her hand reaching her husband’s crouch and giving it a little squeeze.

“I hear Batman’s not one for public appearances. He only comes out to fight crime. So, don’t get your hopes up.” Bruce said.

“Well if getting attacked by a supervillain, is the only way I’ll see Batman then I’d rather skip the whole thing.” Jeannie laughed, as she continued to stroke the growing bulge in her companion’s pants. She yawned loudly into the phone. “Oh Bruce, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yawn in your ear, but it’s been a looong day.” She drawled in a weary voice, giving the Joker a sly wink.

“Yes, I’m sure it has. Well, I’ll let you go get some rest. Take care Jenee and have a good night.”

“I will, thanks. Goodbye Bruce.” Jeannie said, disconnecting the call.

“So, how’s your billionaire boyfriend doing?” The Joker teased. Jeannie caught the darkly dangerous undertones hidden in his playful jest. _He’s jealous! How adorable._ She thought with a smile.

“Who cares. He was hiding under a table, while you were saving my life.” She said, as her fingers tugged at the zipper of his fly. His hand closed over hers, gently lifting it from his crouch. He wasn’t ready for her to see that yet. An alabaster cock, sprouting up from green pubic hairs might be too much for her this soon.

“Let’s take it slow for now. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” He chuckled softly. Jeannie gave him an odd look and nodded. _ The Jack I knew would never turn down a blow job. I wonder what else has changed about him. _ She silently pondered.

“You’re right.” She admitted, as she gave him an appraising a look. “You appear to be doing quite well for yourself. Driving a Bentley, wearing what looks like a $2000 suit. What do you do for living now?”

“I own a couple of gentlemen’s clubs.”

“So, you’re a pimp.” Jeannie said, her tone harsher than she intended.

“Don’t be crass. I said gentlemen’s clubs not whorehouses.”

“Hey, I’m not being judgey, but I know what strip clubs in Gotham are about.”

“You’ve been away from Gotham for a while, things have changed.”

“The world’s oldest profession hasn’t changed, but you’re right Gotham has. The city has a whole new cast of characters…Batman, the scarecrow guy that crashed our party, the Riddler, the green plant lady, then the worst of the worst, the Joker.”

“The worst of the worst, eh?” The Joker said, biting back a smile. He was pleased his reputation had spread from coast to coast.

“That’s what they say. Have you ever met him?”

“I’ve seen him around.”

“Really, and you’re here to tell of it?”

“He doesn’t kill everyone he sees. There’s a method to his madness. He sees murder and mayhem as performance art.”

“You talk like you know him.”

“Everyone in Gotham City knows about the Joker.” He stated flatly, pulling the car over to the curb and cutting off the engine. “We’re here.”

“Are you going to walk me to my door? Unless you need to get back to the clubs and check on your girls.” She teased.

“I’m the boss. I set my own hours.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Jeannie replied, opening her door. They walked into the hotel lobby together. “I hope Jackie hasn’t given the babysitter too hard of a time. He can be a handful.” Jeannie sighed, pressing the elevator button.

“Like father like son.” The tall man chuckled. “Are you going to tell who I am?”

“Little need to. He’s already convinced you’re his father. I tried to tell him that was impossible, but he wasn’t having it. That kid’s so smart that it’s kinda scary sometimes. But don’t get me wrong, he’s also the most wonderful little boy in the world.” Jeannie added with a wistful smile.

“I don’t doubt that.” The Joker said, as he watched Jeannie open the door to her room. He followed her into the multi-roomed suite.

“Make yourself comfortable.” She said, extending a welcoming arm. “Or grab a drink from the minibar. I’m going to check on Jackie.” She added, walking over to a bedroom door and stepping inside.

The Joker was sitting on the couch, his legs crossed, and arms extended over the backrest, when Jeannie came rushing out the bedroom.

“Jackie! Jackie!” She yelled out. The Joker jumped to his feet and gave her a questioning gaze. “He’s not in the bedroom, he must be hiding somewhere.” She quickly explained, as she started opening closets and looking behind the furniture. “Oh God, where is he!” She wailed, running in circles around the suite. The Joker walked up to her and captured her in his arms.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find him. What did the babysitter say?”

“That useless wench is knocked out in the armchair. It’s like she’s drunk or something. I couldn’t get her to wake up.” Jeannie rambled, on the verge of hysterics.

“We’re going to find him.” The Joker stated, his voice firm and resonating with absolute confidence. “Now take a deep breath.” He felt her body relaxing a bit in his arms, his hand rubbing circles on her back. “I’m going to check the bedroom again. You check the rest of the suite.”

“Should I call the police?” Jeannie asked.

“You can, but I think we should perform a thorough search first.” He replied, turning and going into the bedroom. The first thing he noticed was the middle-aged woman sprawled in the armchair, snoring, her mouth hanging open. He lifted the half empty glass of pale liquid from the table beside her and sniffed it. _Not alcohol._ He decided, lifting the glass to the light. He could see tiny, crumb-like particles had settled to the bottom of the glass. He slammed the glass back down on the table, the liquid sloshing his hand.

He exhaled loudly, running his fingers through his hair. He had put on a brave face for Jeannie, but he was…worried, worst afraid. It had taken him a moment to identify the feeling. He had a hard time remembering the last time he felt it. That heavy ball in the pit of your stomach feeling…fear. He took a deep breath, following his own advice.

He looked under the bed, but there was nothing there but dust bunnies. He went into the adjoining bathroom. There was an open bottle of pills on the sink and a spoon lying next to it. He checked the label on the bottle. _Seconal Sodium._ He read on the label. _That’s some strong stuff. Is my little Jeannie a druggie? Her name is on the bottle._ He wondered. _That might explain the almost comatose babysitter in the next room. But what kind of babysitter knocks herself out with sleeping pills when she’s supposed to be watching a child?_

He glanced around the room, rubbing his chin and then he saw it. Something red in the trash. He picked up the small wastebasket and looked inside, lifting out a tiny, red, tube-like item. It was half of an empty Seconal capsule. There were several more in the garbage. _Did my son drug his babysitter? If the woman wanted to take a few sleeping pills, why go through all of the trouble of opening up individual pills and putting them in a drink. Not likely. I don’t need to wait for the DNA test. This kid is definitely my son. _The Joker chuckled softly. _He hasn’t been abducted. He’s run away. But why?_

He walked out of the bathroom, planning to tell Jeannie what he found. He noticed the receiver on the phone had small, brown fingerprints on it. Like someone had picked it up after eating milk chocolate. There was a discarded candy wrapper next to the phone. He lifted the phone to his ear and pressed redial. He only heard five beeps as the phone dialed. _The last call was to someone in the hotel._ The phone rang a few times and the voicemail picked up.

‘The guest you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave your message at the tone.’ The voicemail informed him. He hung up the phone, just as Jeannie entered the room. Her eyes were red and swollen.

“I need to call the police.” She whispered in a shaky voice. He walked over to her, taking her hands in his. 

“I think I know where he is. He’s still in the hotel.” He told her. “C’mon, let’s go get our baby boy.”

The elevator stopped on the 14th floor. The doors barely opened before the Joker zipped from the elevator, moving so quickly that he seemed to magically vanish in front of Jeannie’s eyes. Jeannie rushed out after him, as he dashed down the corridor at a speed an Olympic sprinter would envy. He stopped at room 1425, whipping his key card from his inner blazer and tapping the sensor. He opened the door and stood back for Jeannie to enter.

“Jackie!” Jeannie shouted, running for the bed by the window. Her little man was curled up on the king-sized bed fast asleep. A Glock and several switchblades were scattered across the comforter. Jeannie pulled Jackie into her arms, hugging him tighter than she should, as she buried her head in his hair and whispered his name.

“Whose room is this?” She asked, still holding her son to her breast and glancing at the array of weapons on the bed.

“Mine. Little Jackie drugged his babysitter, ran away, figured out my room number, and got inside my room.” The Joker explained, leaning against the wall, his arms folded and ankles crossed. “You were right Jeannie; our kid is scary smart.”

“Mommy.” Jackie mumbled, rubbing his eyes with tiny fists.

“Yeah baby, Mommy’s here.” She cooed, stroking his hair. “How did you get in here Jackie? Did you know Mr. Kerr was staying in this room?”

“Yes, but it’s a long story Mommy.” Jackie answered, squirming out of his mother’s arms. “How did your dress get all dirty Mommy?” Jeannie looked down in dismay at her clothes. She had forgotten how filthy the ride in the dumbwaiter had gotten her. Jeannie opened her mouth, about to explain, when the Joker waltzed over to the bed and sat down.

“Mommy will tell you her story later. Right now, you tell us your story.” The Joker said, his fingertip lightly tapping Jackie’s chest. 

“Okay.” Jackie muttered, his little shoulders slumping. “I called the operator and asked for Mr. Kerr‘s room and recorded the sound of the phone dialing to get his room number. Every number makes a different sound.”

“You can tell the number by the sound it makes?” Jeannie asked, her eyes growing wide.

“Yes, there’s an app for that.”

“But how did you get inside my room?” The Joker asked, grinning from ear to ear.

“I came down to your floor and waited for the nice lady that puts candy on the pillow. She let me in.”

“She just let you in?” The Joker prodded. Jackie bit his lip and looked downward.

“I told her a fib. I said it was me and my daddy’s room and when I started crying, she let me in.”

“Jackie, what happened to Mrs. Carlisle?” Jeannie interjected.

“I told you my story Mommy, now you gotta tell me your story.”

“Answer your mommy Jackie.” The tall man gently urged. Jackie looked down again, screwing his mouth to the side.

“She wouldn’t let me leave the room by myself.” Jackie whined. “So, I put sleepy pills in her lemonade.”

“That was a very bad thing to do Jackie. You could have made Mrs. Carlisle very sick.” Jeannie said, giving her son a stern look. 

“But you take them all the time Mommy.” The Joker raised an eyebrow at the child’s revelation, giving Jeannie a sidelong glance. She jumped up from the bed, grabbing Jackie by the hand. 

“Come on young man, I’m taking you upstairs and you’re going straight to bed. You’ve gotten up to more than enough mischief for one day.” Jeannie announced, dragging the little boy toward the door.

“Wait!” Jackie cried, pulling against his mother’s hand. “Isn’t Mr. Kerr coming, too?” He asked; his wide eyes shimmering with tears, as they pleaded with the man on the bed. The Joker felt an undeniable tug at his gut, looking into the boy’s misty green eyes. Part of him wanted nothing more than to pull the child into his arms and wipe away his tears, but he knew manipulation when he saw it. After all, he was a master manipulator himself.

“Do as your mother says.” The Joker stated firmly, not moving from the bed. A hint of a smile appeared on Jeannie’s lips, as she silently applauded the man’s response. 

“Mr. Kerr is welcome to come back up with us if he wants, but you’re going straight to bed either way.” Jeannie said, her face stern once again.

Twenty minutes later…

Little Jackie was in his pajamas sitting cross-legged on the bed. The Joker sat in the armchair watching the boy while his mother dealt with a distraught Mrs. Carlisle in the next room. Fortunately, the woman had no idea she had been drugged. When Jeannie finally roused her, the babysitter had apologized profusely for falling asleep while on duty.

“Have you told my mother the truth yet?” The boy asked. The Joker sat back in the chair and folded his arms.

“What truth are you talking about?”

“Have you told her who you really are?”

“What do you mean?” The Joker asked, narrowing his eyes. Jackie huffed and crawled out of bed. He knelt down in front of the armchair and pulled up the man’s trouser leg, exposing a paper-white calf.

“Does she know you’re the Joker?” Jackie asked, peering up at the startled man’s face. The Joker smirked; proud, despite himself, of how clever his kid was.

“How did you figure it out?” The Joker asked, pulling the little boy into his lap.

“Because the Joker is my most favorite villain in the world!” Jackie beamed. “I’ve seen your picture a ga-zillion times. And I saw the stuff in your room. The purple suit with the flower that burned my finger.” He lifted his finger, displaying the small red spot on the tip. “It still burns a little and I only touched it for a second.” The Joker grabbed the boy’s hand and inspected his finger.

“You’ll live.” He said, dropping the boy’s hand. “Are you gonna tell your mommy who I am?”

“I dunno.” Jackie shrugged. “Are you going to kill the bad guys that hurt mommy?”

“Some men hurt your mommy?” He growled, a dangerous gleam shining in his eyes.

“Uh huh.” Jackie nodded, a little frightened by the look on the tall man’s face. “They came here yesterday, and they were yelling at Mommy like they were really mad. They broke the lamp and told her they were going to break me too if she didn’t have their money. Mommy slapped the man when he grabbed my arm and he hit her back so hard she fell down. She had to use extra makeup so no one would see the purple mark on her face.”

The bedroom door opened, and Jeannie stepped in. She put her hands on her hips and glared at Jackie. 

“Why aren’t you in bed young man?”

“Yes Jackie, get in bed. Your mother and I need to have a little talk-ka.”

**Author's Note:**

> This might be a one-shot. Let me know what you think.


End file.
